


both our hands speak for us and complicate it

by volchitsae



Category: Haikyuu!!, Pushing Daisies
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Gun Violence, Knife Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsae/pseuds/volchitsae
Summary: “I know you can bring him back,” Osamu says, desperation raw in his voice, his fists stained red around the fabric of Atsumu’s uniform. “I’ll do anything – please,pleasehelp me.”Sakusa looks at the Atsumu on the ground and the blood smearing the tile after Osamu dragged his body behind the counter. He blinks away the image of his neighbour’s dog in the road, of being taken as a child by neighbours who begged him to revive their loved ones, not willing to understand the sacrifice in return.He’s tried so hard to get away from all of that but here is another stranger, begging for his help. “You do know if I revive him for longer than a minute, someone else has to take his place, and I can’t choose who that is," he grits out. "Are you willing to be that person?”-Sakusa can bake pies and wake the dead. He only wants to use his ability on spoiled fruit, but when his cafe is broken into by those who want his ability and Atsumu is collateral damage, he revives who he considers his most annoying customer yet.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi & Yachi Hitoka, Yachi Hitoka/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 295





	both our hands speak for us and complicate it

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: this is rated mature for knife and gun violence and blood. it isn't in gory detail, but please be prepared to read about an injury!

“G’morning, Sakusa-kun,” Yachi says, flicking through the newspaper she’s brought in from the front step. She leans against the bar countertop and pushes a cup of coffee towards Sakusa as he makes his way down the staircase. He manages a hum as a hello on his way to the kitchen which is as good as his speaking ability gets before coffee.

Key lime, banoffee, apple, pecan. Sakusa jots the list of pie fillings down on the whiteboard Yachi got him that’s stuck to the large industrial refrigerator. The kitchen smells of hearty chicken noodle soup, warm and comforting.

Bake My Day, their café, is not going to open for at least another two hours at 7am. It was named by Yachi; she and Sakusa had both individually arrived at this part of the city at around the same time and both were interested in starting a restaurant and a bakery, respectively. This part of town is where the boundary between logic and magic blurs, and it’s the place to go if your way of living uses some magic and your customers don’t mind.

They got on quite well to their surprise; they think it must’ve been the love for baking and food, something about watching all the work you put in literally _rise_ to fruition as is for most baked goods. Yachi is able to cook or bake her emotions into her food. Some of their menu includes phrases like “feel-good”, “comforting”, and “mood pick-me-ups” meant to be taken seriously.

Sipping his coffee, the warmth bleeds into the tips of his fingers, and he feels himself grow more awake with every blink and determined to do well today, too. Very Yachi-esque.

Sakusa washes his hands after tying his apron and pulls a few batches of spoiled fruit from the walk-in fridges out onto his workspace. He taps his bare fingers against all of them, watching them swell and return to a fresh state, before washing his hands again and putting on some latex gloves to begin slicing and preparation of the fillings.

Perhaps it was fate that he and Yachi arrived at the same time. They decided to join forces and take over the restaurant that was sold to them and live in the apartment above the restaurant. They have their own bedrooms but share the rest of the living space. The café on the main floor itself is stylized as a blend between modern and old fashioned, with booths and the bar countertop pushed up against rustic white brick. Plants hang from the ceilings and sit in the windowsill pots and the light of the day bounces off light polished wood.

“It’s the geraniums this week, Sakusa,” Yachi calls from the front, laughing. She pushes open the door and stands halfway through it with a bundle of wilted white flowers.

“Sorry,” he says. “I know you wanted to pot those this weekend. Yamaguchi should be awake by now, right? I think I wilted the two peonies that Misaki-san cut from her bush for us last week, if you could get some of those too.” Yachi’s ears turn a faint shade of pink at the mention of Yamaguchi, the florist, next door.

“Go say hi to him for me,” he continues, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “And sorry as well; I liked the geraniums.”

“You think you’re such the matchmaker, don’t you?”

“Of course not, we only agreed that we would get arrangements from him. It’s not my fault if he speaks to you in flower language with what he gives us.” Sakusa points at the bundle of lavender hanging to dry above her, signifying devotion.

Yachi narrows her eyes at him playfully with a smile on her face. “Pink peonies?”

“Yeah, to match that blush,” he says, and gets a wilted flower bouncing off his shoulder for it.

The locals easily mistaken them as a couple early on in their career, but a few short “No, we are business partners and friends,” from Sakusa leaves it at that. Then they have to deal with their regular customers trying to set up dates for them.

It’s no use; Sakusa isn’t interested, and Yachi has a budding romance with Yamaguchi of The Floral Reef. He has botany magic, although Sakusa isn’t sure exactly what that entails. They decorate their café with his arrangements and Sakusa’s apologized before for wilting some every now and then because of his fruit reviving, but Yamaguchi always waves him off.

“Just means more business for me,” he’d grinned at the first time Sakusa wilted the arrangement of lavender and violets he’d brought, rubbing his nose and getting dirt on it. Yachi brandished a handkerchief to get it off his face and Sakusa left them be until Yachi returned with more lavender from Yamaguchi and Sakusa had teased her about it.

When Yachi gets back in and starts on her chive and cheese pretzels, Sakusa’s got his pies in the oven in exchange for the muffins and croissants she had in there and is out to serve the early bird regulars. Yachi’s humming gently while she kneads and Sakusa keeps an eye on her throughout the day in case she overworks herself into crashing. She doesn’t bake or cook when she’s in a bad or anxious mood, because whoever eats them will feel the same. Sakusa’s chastised her every now and then to go take breaks and take care of herself so she doesn’t get too stressed out or ill. The demand for her food which quite literally makes people feel happier would put pressure on anyone.

His ‘powers’, on the other hand, work as such: he can revive dead things. First touch, alive, touch again within one minute, dead again. If they are alive for more than one minute, something equivalent takes its place. If the thing alive for more than one minute is touched by Sakusa once more at any point in time, it’s dead forever.

When Sakusa touches fruit, he knows somewhere in town there is some fruit suddenly going bad – this works for him, because he’ll buy the spoiled fruit for a discounted price under the guise of making fertilizer, only to revive it and use it in his baked goods. The marketplace hasn’t said anything, apparently just happy to get rid of their bad fruit by striking a deal with Sakusa.

He acquired his powers as many magical folk do: through family lines. Sakusa’s parents and older sister have healing abilities and work in hospitals all over the city. His abilities came when he was twelve and he was trying to move their neighbour’s dog from the road onto the sidewalk, struck down by a car driving too fast in the neighbourhood.

He had picked the dog up and it had squirmed out of his arms, ready to play, and when it jumped at him and he touched it again it dropped back to the ground. His parents had found him with his hands pressed together, praying through his tears. Honestly, it was slightly traumatic, but that was how they realized his powers had arrived. They figured out the post-one-minute bit a few days later after Sakusa was trying to throw out a bunch of spoiled bananas and revived them; after one minute, the apple he was going to eat spoiled in his hand, and when he grabbed a banana, it had rot as well.

Since then, he’s kept himself well away from hospitals and cemeteries where the percentage of dead people are slightly higher than the rest of other parts of the earth. He turned to baking instead, borne of many baking sessions at home with his sister and mother because they would revive spoiled fruit for treats.

He could never eat them, though. Once they touched his tongue they’d rot again, so he takes a fondness to poppyseed and flaky puff pastry, to chocolate dipped eclairs and powdered sugar. Sakusa enjoys the precision and science behind baking and he looks back fondly on his time in culinary school where gloves were mandatory, and he could stop thinking about his Midas touch for a moment. He keeps the habit with cloth gloves in his daily life and latex ones when at the café.

It’s impolite to speculate what people’s abilities are. Yachi knows what he can do, but he suspects most people think he has abilities like hers – something to do with food. He’s been really, really careful about who sees him reanimating fruit. Word must get around about his odd almost-necromancy after these few years running Bake My Day, because later that day in the early afternoon, two smartly dressed men in suits come into the café right up to where Sakusa is making a latte. Yachi is slicing some key lime pie and chatting with the lady who’s ordered it to-go.

“You’re Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Hm, he doesn’t like that tone. Sakusa closes the lid on their customer’s travel mug and hands it to Yachi with a careful neutral expression. She grins at their customer while giving them their drink and then smiles at the two men as well, touching Sakusa’s elbow with one hand on her way back to the kitchen for the next person in line.

Sakusa clears his throat, picking up a mug to wipe dry. “I am. How can I help you today?”

“I’m Daisuke, and this is Eijun. We’re here for a business deal.”

“Oh, then let me grab my partner,” Sakusa says. “We’re co-owners here.” He turns, and then twitches because Daisuke grabs his arm to stop him.

“No need. We’re just interested in dealing with you.”

Sakusa smiles tightly and puts the mug and cloth down. “Of course. Were you interested in a sampling of the food we offer here? Catering services?”

Eijun snorts. “No. Is there somewhere more private than this to talk about what we’re here for?”

Sakusa shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid not. This is a café, there’s plenty of seating.” He gestures at an unoccupied table nearby. They grumble but acquiesce, sitting in the wooden chairs. Sakusa leans back in his seat, hands on his thighs. The rest of the people in the restaurant watch them because Sakusa sticking around to chat when there’s usually food to serve or watch over isn’t a regular thing.

They speak in low voices. “Our employer is interested in providing a substantial amount of sponsorship and promotion to your café in exchange for what you can do.”

Yachi’s a one-woman promotion monster on her own. He’s seen her graphic design portfolio and the ads in the newspaper and on social media.

“My pies?”

“What you do for your pies,” Daisuke says, looking at Sakusa as if he’s dumb. Sakusa really wants them to say it outright.

He raises his eyebrows. “Bake?”

“We know you can turn rotten fruit back into fresh fruit. Can you do that with a person?” Eijun’s clearly fed up. Daisuke is less so, and glares at Eijun.

“I haven’t tried. I don’t know.” A lie; he can see a group of police officers sauntering down the street towards the café over Daisuke’s shoulder and thanks Yachi inwardly that she’s asked for help. He doesn’t really know what he’s going to do if – when – they kidnap him or threaten him. They look like the type who don’t take no for an answer.

“We need you to try it on someone,” Eijun continues. “You can move out of this place to the city where you and your wife can start a chain. There’s a lot you could earn from this.”

Sakusa chuckles and says no anyway. “We’ve had the discussion. Thank you for your time, sirs, but we’re not interested.” He gets up at the same time that the police officers open the door and steps back behind the counter under the guise of serving them.

Daisuke growls and tries to grab Sakusa but holds back when Eijun notices there’s police.

“Hi, welcome to Bake My Day. Is there anything I can help you with?” The group of policemen consist of four men; two are twins, one blond and one grey-haired, and the other two are one with grey and black hair with gold eyes and a tall man with messier black hair.

“Someone called in an anonymous disturbance,” one twin says. “Just wanted to check if everythin’ was alright.”

“Yes, of course, it’s business as usual.” Sakusa replies. His eyes flicker over at the two men. The other twin is looking around curiously until he focuses on Eijun and Daisuke, backs turned to them.

“My, my,” he starts, hands in his pockets to meander over. “I didn’t expect to see your mug so soon, Eijun. Daisuke, too! Looks like y’all are back to your ways. Typical.”

“Saw you coming down the street and hoped it was you,” Daisuke says, and pauses. He looks around; while occupied, Sakusa’s gestured for everyone to leave as quickly as they could. The last customer has the door closing behind them.

“I’ve always been good at making wishes come true,” says the blond twin.

Then Daisuke pulls out a knife from his belt and shoves it straight up into the blond’s abdomen, right underneath the protective vest. The punched-out gasp from him hangs in the air.

“ _Atsumu_ – "

There’s a lot that happens at once. Sakusa cannot _believe_ how this has escalated; he curses Daisuke and ducks behind the counter, glancing up into the mirrors above the bar installed in the ceiling. He can see that Eijun’s been tackled but is fighting back and Daisuke has pushed Atsumu into the tables, taking his knife back to pull out his gun. He can hear Atsumu’s coughing and his blood splattering onto the hardwood floor.

There are a few gunshots and shouting; he tries to get to the back where Yachi is, but his body won’t move. He’s frozen in fear. All he can do is watch the mirrors and right now it’s Daisuke dragging Atsumu over to the bar counter while holding a knife to his neck to start a hostage situation.

Daisuke does get pulled away by someone and he can see the grey-haired twin drag Atsumu to safety behind the counter. He falls to his knees holding Atsumu in his arms.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he says, and for the second time today Sakusa knows exactly what he wants. He looks at Atsumu, pale and drawn and still, head lolling against his twin’s shoulder. He’s not breathing and there was a lot of blood lost. It must’ve been a punctured lung with the way that knife went in.

Sakusa wants to slam his head into the cupboard door. “How many people know about this exactly?”

“Just me right now, I was secretly appointed the case about the gang searching for you. I didn’t think I’d see the people I was looking for on top of one of them having a grudge against Atsumu on my way to talk to you. I’m Osamu.”

“Pleasure,” Sakusa deadpans. A stray gunshot hits one of Yachi’s decorations and he winces as the embroidery hoops fall from the wall and scatter.

“I know you can bring him back,” Osamu says, desperation raw in his voice, his fists stained red around the fabric of Atsumu’s uniform. “I’ll do anything – please, _please_ help me.”

Sakusa looks at the Atsumu on the ground and the blood smearing the tile after Osamu dragged his body behind the counter. He blinks away the image of his neighbour’s dog in the road, of being led as a child to a body by neighbours who begged him to revive their loved ones, not willing to understand the sacrifice in return.

He’s tried so hard to get away from all of that but here is another stranger, begging for his help.

“You do know if I revive him for longer than a minute, someone else has to take his place, and I can’t choose who that is,” he grits out. “Are you willing to be that person?”

He can hear the sob held back get stuck in Osamu’s throat.

“Are you willing to sacrifice one of your colleagues? No? That’s what I thought,” he says, and gets on his hands and knees to crawl to where Yachi is in the back of the kitchen.

Osamu grabs Sakusa’s ankle and Sakusa turns to glare.

“Yes,” Osamu says. The glint in his eyes is steel. Sakusa sighs, struggling internally for a few moments until he crawls back, fingers of one hand hovering over Atsumu’s pale face. He knows the sacrifice won’t be him or Yachi; somehow it targets someone connected to the dead person, and they’ve only met these officers today.

“If _you_ drop dead,” he snarls, “ _I’m_ not going to be the one to explain to him what happened. I claim no fucking responsibility.” Osamu nods, jaw tight. Sakusa tugs one glove off by the fingertips using his teeth and taps Atsumu on the face before pulling it back on and resuming his crawl to wherever Yachi might be.

He can hear Atsumu gasping, not unlike the sound he made when the man first stabbed him, and automatically his brain starts counting down.

It takes him fifteen seconds to crawl into the kitchen hoping they don’t notice the double doors swinging. He gets up into a crouch, head whipping around to try to see where Yachi is.

There; he can see the floral pattern of her apron peeking out from behind some racks of their pans. He gets over there and hisses her name.

“Sakusa-kun,” she whispers, eyes wide in fear, blonde hair falling from her ponytail. He crawls into the space beside her.

_40 seconds._

“Minor gang, I think their leader is dead, and they want me,” he says in a rush. “The cops you called, one of them knows about me and how the gang wants to use me.”

“You can’t,” Yachi says, clutching at his arm. “You do it once and everyone will ask for it. Give and inch and they’ll take a mile.” Sakusa nods. 

“I told them no, and they didn’t like that, and one of the cops has some bad blood with those guys, and they started to fight.”

_25 seconds._

“Should we just stay here?”

“Yes. One got stabbed and died. His twin asked me to bring him back, don’t get mad, but I did.” Yachi gasps, her grip on his arm borderline painful.

 _15 seconds_.

“Not mad,” she says, even though her voice is sharp with panic, “I’m sure you explained, and he probably understands the consequences. Does the rest of the police force know? How much time left?”

“Osamu said just him, five seconds,” Sakusa says, and they breathe through it, trying not to hyperventilate.

Sakusa hears a body drop to the ground outside. Everything quiets down, then; all he can hear is their shaky breathing.

He hears someone getting arrested and the voices of the other cops asking for some more officers for support. A pair of boots make their way into the kitchen.

“Sakusa-san,” Osamu says. “We’ve arrested Eijun. It’s safe to come out now; we need you to come to the police station with us for a statement.”

Sakusa rises and reaches out to help Yachi up, whose legs are cramping from staying curled up for so long.

“Where’s Atsumu?”

“On the way to the hospital,” Osamu says, stoic and calm for someone who’s watch their sibling die and come back to life in minutes. “Please come with me.”

They pass Daisuke covered with a sheet. Sakusa blocks it from Yachi’s view with his body, arm around her shoulders.

Sakusa and Yachi are questioned individually at the police station about what they remember happening. Sakusa gives every detail he remembers except that they were after his abilities, instead saying that they were vaguely speaking about a storefront for money laundering or some similar type of crime. He knows Yachi also won’t let his ability slip; the world is still getting used to them, the magic users, and law enforcement isn’t totally trusting just yet.

The café is closed for the next few days while the police document and investigate. He supposes Osamu has told Atsumu about what happened; Kuroo and Bokuto, the other two officers in the group, come by when Sakusa and Yachi are given permission to reopen and they help clean everything up.

Sakusa and Yachi are still a little jumpy as they try to get back to their normal routine, glancing often at the door. Their regulars welcome them back with an overwhelming amount of support and pestering to figure out what happened, but ever since the incident, the customers present said that Sakusa was threatened for the business and the police got involved when it got violent. Yachi and Sakusa leave it at that.

The police station posts a few more police officers in the area who patrol and hang around the café more often than before as well. Bokuto and Kuroo’s faces become familiar too.

“I’m so glad we got the premium insurance,” Yachi says, righting the tables and chairs on their reopening day. There was some damage to the walls and some furniture, plus the blood, but overall the repair went smoothly.

“Yacchan,” Kuroo says, the first person in the door. “The biggest cup of coffee you’ve got. I’ll even take a bowl.”

“I’ll take the coffee pot itself,” Bokuto chimes in, waving hello to Sakusa through the open section of the wall to the kitchen.

Yachi’s giggling. “Anything else? Something to eat?”

“Chef’s recommendation?” They look into the kitchen where Sakusa is elbow deep in flour.

“Which one?” Sakusa calls back. “Yachi, point to the ‘Chef’s recommendation’ part on the menu,” he says, because he wrote _lemon blueberry scones_ up there this morning.

“I was hoping for something more personal,” Kuroo says, over his mug.

“Yachi’s batch of scones are damn near perfect every time, of course it’s a personal recommendation.”

“ _Near_ perfect?” Yachi puts her hands on her hips with a mock scowl.

“Yes, _near_ , they’d be perfect if I made them,” he replies. Yachi scoffs through a laugh.

“That’s a misdemeanor right there,” says Bokuto.

“Truly a crime,” Kuroo adds.

“If you arrest me you’re officially banned from this place.”

“Only when you’re on shift! Right, Yacchan?” Yachi hands Bokuto a scone before ringing them up.

Sakusa scowls for real. “I’m _always_ on shift.”

The bell of the door chimes again and Yamaguchi is there, hair tied up into a ponytail with two arrangements of green chrysanthemums in his arms.

“Hitoka! Sakusa-san! Happy reopening day. G’morning, officers,” he says, smiling widely. Sakusa leans out of the ledge.

“Good morning, Yamaguchi. We didn’t order flowers, did we?”

Yamaguchi shakes his head. “They’re for celebration! The neighbourhood chipped in, said they were missing you two and the café.”

“That’s so kind!” Yachi scrambles a little for a mug, eyes bright. “Yamaguchi-kun, Sakusa dried the lavender from a few weeks ago; we’ve steeped it with earl grey. Here, I’ll make you a London Fog.”

“ _Hitoka?_ ” Sakusa whispers, as she passes by with the bouquets to put them on some tables.

“Kiyoomi-kun,” she replies, eyes wide with _don’t you dare_. They hold their staring contest for a second until they both break, Yachi huffing while she shakes her head and Sakusa rolling his eyes with a smile. He’s done enough teasing with that one echo of her name already, so he leaves it. Bokuto and Kuroo don’t leave it, however, opting to interrogate Yamaguchi’s intentions to amuse Yachi.

The last person he expects to see in Bake My Day is Atsumu himself.

Sakusa and Yachi have just switched shifts and it’s Sakusa’s turn up at the counter. When he sees Atsumu’s familiar blond cap of hair, there’s a million questions that run through his head. How should he act? Normally? How much does he know about what happened? Maybe he’s here for just a coffee, as is everyone else who comes into the café. Sakusa’s got his gloves on, he can do this.

Atsumu ambles up to the register, all easy smiles in his black t-shirt with a navy button up open loose over it. His badge dangles off a chain on his neck.

“I’m Miya Atsumu, detective.” He holds out his hand. Sakusa shakes Atsumu’s hand as briefly as he can and strips off his latex gloves for another pair.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he replies. Atsumu swipes his fingertips together to get the crumbs off of them, expression unreadable. “What can I get for you today, officer?”

“Kuroo n’ Bokkun have recommended the danishes, but I’m interested in your pie menu,” he says, head tilted up to read the list on the menu. “Any recommendations?”

“Triple berry; tart and not too sweet.”

“Sure, a slice of that with a coffee, please.” Sakusa taps in his order and goes off to slice a piece and pour the coffee while Atsumu pays. He hopes Atsumu will sit at a table, but Atsumu opts to take a seat at the bar.

Sakusa busies himself with the couple that walk in, goes to the back to pull out more coffee filters, pulls out the broom to sweep a little, anything that’ll keep him occupied and away from Atsumu speaking to him or being within a three-foot radius of him. He’s not going to interrupt Yachi to switch with him in the middle of her strudels; those take work to put together. He runs out of things to do eventually, though, because he doesn’t want to make small talk with any other customer on top of Atsumu.

“Are ya done avoidin’ me?” Atsumu looks over at him, chin propped up in one hand.

 _I have to avoid you, because I’d kill you permanently with one touch,_ Sakusa thinks. He gets back behind the counter and leans against the sink to keep several feet between them. He crosses his arms.

“This is a busy place,” Sakusa says. “Did you need anything else? How is the pie?” Atsumu gives him a little sardonic nod, eyes smug.

“Sure. The pie’s great. I didn’t get to ask you any questions due to the collapsed lung, but I’m interested in the – uh, meetin’ – that you had with good ol’ Daisuke and Eijun.”

“I gave my statement to Bokuto and Kuroo already,” Sakusa says, shifting uncomfortably. What else is there to know? “Are you back to duty so soon?”

“Nah,” Atsumu says, inhaling deeply with one hand on his chest. “Desk work for a total of six to eight weeks depending on how well I’m recoverin’. I thought a coffee was tame enough with some paperwork.” He flips open his notebook.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sakusa says, pushing off of the sink edge but freezing when Atsumu reaches out and puts his hand flat on the countertop.

“Said paperwork involves you, of course. ‘Samu’s tellin’ me nothin’ about what went down, but this little stab wound of mine should’ve been lethal.”

“And here I thought you were visiting because of the pies. It’s a miracle,” he shrugs. “Medical miracles happen all the time; you’re our local Phineas Gage.”

“Phineas Gage’s brains got blown out in an accident,” Atsumu says, pointing at Sakusa with his pen. “My wound wasn’t from a reckless mistake.”

“Provoking Daisuke was plenty reckless.”

Atsumu scoffs. “I didn’t think he’d _stab_ me, Omi-kun.”

Saksua bristles at the nickname. “I think having some gang member resent you and hope to see you again to the point where he would stab you on sight would remind me _not_ to talk to him. And it’s Sakusa.”

Atsumu waves it off and Sakusa rolls his eyes, ready to go back into the kitchen.

“Speakin’ of miracles, the doctors have a real odd note on my medical records. It’s like I just stopped bleedin’ even though the wound was open for god knows how long.”

“Do you think I know anything about anatomy? I bake pies,” Sakusa says, flat. “Your brother must have put enough pressure on the wound.”

Atsumu clenches his fists for a moment before releasing them with a frustrated sigh. “A punctured lung involves air where it shouldn’t be. My heart stopped; I _died_. I definitely died,” he says, low so other patrons can’t hear.

“I remember nothin’ but the pain and everythin’ goin’ black, until I woke up properly in the hospital. There’s somethin’ Osamu and you aren’t tellin’ me, and I’m frustrated as hell tryin’ to figure it out,” he says, glaring at Sakusa. “It’s his case and ‘m not allowed any more details on it even when _I_ was the one in the middle of it. What would the gang want with you? A baker? And for Daisuke to drop dead of cardiac arrest?”

The _what kind of magic do you have_ goes unsaid.

“Pressure on the wound would’ve helped you from bleeding out, air aside,” Sakusa points out. “And I don’t know. I already told you guys that they communicated in purposefully vague language. I gave you quotes.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes at Sakusa but shakes his head, flipping his notebook closed. “’M gonna get the truth out of ya, Omi-Omi, no matter what it takes.” He pushes his empty plate and mug towards Sakusa.

Sakusa glowers. “It’s Sakusa. I’ve told the truth to your colleagues if you’d just care to listen.”

“See ya later, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and waves on his way out. The tension in Sakusa’s shoulders finally drops.

“Sakusa-kun?” He turns to see Yachi poking her head out of the opening from the kitchen that’s over the sink. “Was that –“

“Yeah,” Sakusa sighs. He feels exhausted.

“What’s he doing here? Didn’t Osamu tell him?”

“Apparently not.”

“You could’ve asked me to switch, let me know next time.”

“And interrupt your baking? Nope.”

She laughs, exasperated. “This would be the exception.”

“Maybe a few times,” he relents. “I have a feeling he’s going to be around often.”

And he’s right. Atsumu shows up once a day, never at the same time, and always somehow when Sakusa’s manning the front counter. He gets Yachi to cover for him a few times, but he stops when one batch of cannoli starts making people feel flustered and nervous. There’s an uptick of people confessing their crushes to each other; Yachi finds it hilarious and Sakusa decides to just deal with Atsumu to prevent this from happening again.

Atsumu tries to peek into the kitchen on the few occasions Sakusa’s switched to get back into the kitchen and he’s always stopping himself from reviving some fruit in case Atsumu (who’s his height) towers over Yachi and gets a look. Perhaps it’s better he’s out front; no risk of reanimating anything. He just has to wear gloves and be really conscious of where Atsumu is relative to himself.

“Afternoon, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, on one such occasion. Sakusa wordlessly cuts him a slice of key lime pie.

“This free? How kind.”

“The more often your mouth is full of pie the less you speak.”

“Oh, I dunno about that,” Atsumu says, speaking with a mouth full of whipped cream. “I can speak plenty even with this pie,” and he laughs because Sakusa’s face screws up into one of disgust.

“What made ya decide to start a restaurant here? Runnin’ away from somethin’?”

Sakusa gives Atsumu an incredulous look. “I enjoy baking. There wasn’t a café here.”

Atsumu grumbles, poking at the pie. “Was worth a shot.”

“What made Osamu and you decide to join the police force?”

“Our dad’s a fireman. He didn’t want us joining the brigade, but we still wanted somethin’ similar, so this worked out. Dunno how ‘Samu’s always the buffer one, we have the same DNA.”

Sakusa snorts, unsure how to continue the conversation, and then stubbornly doesn’t speak because why does he want to keep talking to Atsumu? Sakusa thinks Atsumu is trying to befriend him to get his guard down and refuses to give.

“I’m aware of the dangers although I didn’t think I’d get stabbed,” he continues. “I also didn’t think I’d be in a café where the food can change your mood.”

“Most food does tend to do that. Hungry to full. Hangry to happy.”

Atsumu glares. “Y’know what I mean. Is that what you and Yachi do here?”

“Yeah. Source of the name.”

“Who chose the pun?”

“Yachi.”

“How much do you hate it?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Had to compete with The Floral Reef next door.”

“I think I like The Floral Reef better.”

“You can take your business there, then.”

“Bastard,” Atsumu says over his mug of tea.

Sakusa unconsciously gets used to Atsumu’s presence as the weeks go by. Atsumu’s stopped asking about the incident when he visits and Sakusa hopes he keeps it that way as he properly recovers and returns to his regular duties. Atsumu then starts to appear after his shifts in the evenings when the café is quiet.

“Omi-kun, my favourite café owner,” Atsumu calls, tossing his jacket at Sakusa, who catches it and whips it back at him over the counter.

“Grilled tuna belly is the sandwich special,” Yachi replies.

“Yacchan, my favourite café owner,” he revises. Yachi swoops out of the kitchen with a bright laugh to drop a bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of Atsumu.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Yachi says, pouring tea. “Anything happen at the precinct?”

“Actually, it was kind of slow at the precinct, so Kuroo and Bokkun staged a wild arm wrestlin’ competition and no one could leave until we’d made our way through the brackets.”

“And you’re here because you lost,” Sakusa says.

“How _rude_ , Yacchan, wasn’t that rude? I’ll have you know I won against Kuroo.”

“But lost to Bokuto?”

“To Matsukawa,” Atsumu sighs. “Built like a fuckin’ tree, that man. Iwaizumi is reigning champion, but I came here rather than wait to see ‘cause they’ll be flauntin’ it tomorrow.”

“You’re still pretty cheerful,” Yachi says. “Happy that you got off work earlier?”

“Nah, just happy to see your lovely face,” Atsumu says, and both Yachi and Sakusa roll their eyes at each other and break into laughter.

“So you _can_ smile, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa scowls back. “Consider it a fluke.”

“Aw, Sakusa-kun!” Yachi fakes a pout. He looks at her and says, “You’ve gotten plenty from me, don’t be greedy,” and she sticks her tongue out at him before getting back to her sourdough loaves.

“He’s not spared any for me, Yacchan, tell him to!”

“Sakusa, smile at Atsumu more.”

“He has to pay for them first.”

“He leaves tips, that’s pretty much the same thing.”

Atsumu cocks his head, expectant smile on his face. Sakusa sighs exasperatedly. Yachi comes back out with washed hands and she pokes her index fingers into her corners of her mouth to mimic a smile and wiggles her eyebrows. Sakusa gives them an annoyed one, but then Yachi snickers, and he’s properly laughing this time.

“Wow, you weren’t lyin’, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says, expression open and astonished. “I’d be pretty greedy with those myself.” Yachi shakes her head and gives Sakusa a look on the way to the kitchen, which he ignores.

“Your total is $12.75,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu grumbles and tugs out his wallet to pay with a tip. He holds out the cash and Sakusa takes it, being careful about where exactly his fingers are even though he is wearing gloves.

“Don’tcha ever take those off?”

“I handle a lot of money, it’s easily the dirtiest thing we’re often in contact with.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Cellphones.”

“Fair point.”

“Wow, conceding a point to me, Omi-kun? Also a first.”

“And the last.”

The next two days, there’s an absence of Atsumu’s appearance. Sakusa isn’t sure how healed exactly Atsumu is, but it’s a little concerning, and apparently glances towards the door more often than he’s comfortable with acknowledging because at the end of the day Yachi brings two cups of tea to the front with, “You know you could call the precinct, right? The non-emergency line exists.”

Sakusa puts his washcloth down and walks away to stick his face into the freezer out of mortification.

When he comes back out to sit with her, she has an amused but concerned expression.

“Before you say anything,” he starts, “I know it would never work. I’m just in the middle of it and trying to drag myself out.” She nods, sympathetic.

“I know you’ve already thought it through, Sakusa-kun,” she says, hands wrapped around her mug's warmth. “I can’t help but be a little determined, you know? Gloves? Some kind of plastic barrier in the car? Shimizu-senpai has beekeeping suits next door.”

Sakusa chuckles. “Hazmat suits.”

Yachi snorts into her mug. “How’re you even supposed to speak to each other with those on?”

The door opens and Sakusa’s head whips towards it, to his embarrassment. There’s a palpable sense of relief when it’s Atsumu.

“Missed me, did you?” Atsumu ambles in, his usual self.

“Was it your lung?” Sakusa asks.

“Straight to the point as always, Omi-Omi. Nah. They had me on parking ticket duty and I went for some tests at the hospital. Seriously boring stuff, so glad to be here, missed you too.”

Yachi waves at Atsumu, picking up her empty mug. “Sakusa, you haven’t eaten yet, right? Oh, I didn’t even think to save the harvest vegetable soup before I scooped the last bit of it for myself,” she says, flustered. “I’m so sorry; let me whip something up for the both of you real quick.”

Sakusa knows Yachi has been spending most of her happier energy for the café food and that she’s still anxious from the incident. He _is_ hungry, and usually eats the leftovers after the café is closed; if there are none like today, he’ll just cook something himself.

He grabs her wrist, scrutinizing her face. “I think you should call it a night, actually,” he says. They’re at eye level at with one another when they’re seated and she’s still eye level when she gets off the stool. “I’ll finish cleanup tonight.”

“Are you sure? Pasta takes ten minutes.” He nods, pulling at the bow of her apron at her back until it loosens around her t-shirt and jeans.

“It’s fine. I _can_ do things other than bake, surprisingly. Go rest.” She nods, deflating a little from exhaustion, and says goodnight to Atsumu. Sakusa turns back and notes the guarded expression in Atsumu’s eyes.

“What?”

“I read ‘business partner’ in the transcripts. Didn’t know it was also _partner_ partner,” says Atsumu. “Congrats. Yachi’s a gem.”

Sakusa stares at Atsumu before picking up the phone of the café. He dials and continues staring at Atsumu while he speaks.

“Hey, Yamaguchi? Yeah, we’ve just closed for the evening and Yachi’s more tired than usual today. Yeah, she just went upstairs. The doors are still open, come right in. Bring a succulent.” And then he hangs up and doesn’t say anything because about 20 seconds later Yamaguchi is opening the door. He stops, worried that he’s interrupted something when he sees Atsumu sitting there, but Sakusa waves at him to hurry it up and he scurries upstairs. Atsumu has his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Seems you’re not so great at being a detective,” Sakusa says, “if you’ve been here all this time without witnessing the slow burn _saga_ of Yachi and Yamaguchi.”

Atsumu opens his mouth but nothing comes out except a disbelieving laugh. “Fine. You got me there, Omi-kun. But I’ve got the upper hand here.”

“Upper hand of what?”

“You’re closed, right? Wanna go grab a bite somewhere?”

Sakusa stops wiping down the countertop.

“I’m vegetarian,” he manages.

Atsumu shrugs. “There's a really good vegetarian Chinese place across town. I'll take us there. What d’you say?” He swings his keys on one finger.

Sakusa’s still reeling at how getting into a car with Atsumu will exponentially increase the chances of them accidentally touching and Atsumu dying, and he needs to come up with an excuse right the fuck now because if he doesn’t, he’ll – he’ll say _yes_.

“No thanks,” he says. “Closing up.” Just like his throat.

Atsumu shrugs and leaves with "Your loss,” which is much more abrupt than Sakusa expected. The bell above the door rings hollowly. 

Sakusa finishes cleaning up, fueled with frustration that he doesn’t know the origin of. He’s halfway into cutting dough for the pie crusts before he realizes that he’s feeling _lonely_ , of all things. The quiet especially without Atsumu around at this time of night is too quiet.

Sakusa sighs, flour floating around him. Of _course_ he started to care about the one person he can’t get too close to. Just his luck.

“How the fuck did this happen,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head.

He’s busy reviving blackberries after the crusts have been set to rest about an hour later and doesn’t hear the café door open until Atsumu is in the kitchen.

"You should really lock your front door," Atsumu says, before freezing because Sakusa swears loudly and whirls around.

In his hand, a spoiled blackberry swells and ripens to perfection.

Atsumu’s eyes are locked on that blackberry. Sakusa swallows, throat suddenly dry, and he puts the blackberry down on the cutting board next to the other revived ones. He slides his latex gloves on.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa says nothing, backing away from Atsumu who’s approaching him. He feels trapped.

“Don’t come any closer,” he says. Atsumu ignores him.

“Why not?” The distance drops from five feet to three.

“Just don’t.” In his panic, Sakusa grabs the kitchen knife.

"Are you threatenin’ me? I could have ya charged for that."

"I'm trying to prevent you from dying, take this fucking seriously,” Sakusa snaps.

“Dyin’?” Atsumu is still moving towards him. “Dyin’ how? Last I checked, m’ pretty sure you’re human, not Thanatos himself. Or is _that_ what you can do? Touch people and they die? Can’t be; I’ve seen you touch Yachi without those gloves on, and those berries look mighty fresh.”

“I hate that you know it’s not Hades who’s the god of death but Thanatos,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu laughs.

“You can thank my middle school teacher for that. Why can’t I get close to you, Sakusa?” The way he’s said it tells Sakusa that he means more than just physically.

 _I wish you could,_ his brain whispers, and his hands start to shake around the knife.

“Put th’ knife down, Omi-Omi. Just talk to me. What’s goin’ on?” Atsumu’s voice is low and smooth. Sakusa takes a deep breath, then turns away to the sink to wash the knife and give his hands something to do.

“I can revive dead things. First touch alive, second touch if it’s within a minute dead. If it’s not within a minute something else takes its place. If I touch the alive thing ever again it’s permanently dead.” Sakusa turns back around while putting the knife into the holder and gives Atsumu a pointed look.

“So the day you met Daisuke and Eijun, I died. And you brought me back.” Sakusa nods. “Daisuke took my place.” He nods again.

“Did you choose Daisuke?”

“No. I don’t choose who or what the sacrifice is. It was just lucky that it wasn’t Osamu himself or Bokuto or Kuroo. Please tell your brother I apologize for telling you; clearly, he wanted to keep it a secret, but you just couldn’t leave it alone.”

Atsumu chuckles, the risk that Osamu took dawning on him. “’Samu’s got some nerve to make a play like that when we don’t have powers or understand ones like yours or Yachi’s.”

“The way you managed to come in whenever I was at the counter made it seem otherwise,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu huffs a laugh.

“So you can't touch me. And I can’t touch you.”

“That’s the same thing. Also, no.”

Atsumu reaches out and Sakusa flinches. He’s backed up against the sink edge. Atsumu lays his hand across Sakusa’s glove covered wrist, slow and careful like he’s coaxing a wild animal. Sakusa can hear his own pulse there, the skin where his glove ends itching from the heat of Atsumu’s hand.

Atsumu lifts off. “See? Not too bad. I promise I won’t do anythin’ without your permission. I’ll be careful. ‘S just nice to talk without half a room’s space between us.” He climbs onto a stool nearby to portion out noodles for the both of them.

Sakusa resumes his berry revival and feels like he’s forgotten how to make a pie filling when Atsumu watches him intently.

“This is what they wanted. To use it on their leader.”

Atsumu hums. “Makes more sense now; I knew he was ill, but not dead. Now he’s dead and his subordinates are lookin’ for revival by a random person that he’ll never run into again is a good thing for immortality.”

His gaze on Sakusa’s hands turns sharp and worried. “D’you think they’d kill everyone and then make you revive them for a fully immortal gang?”

“Just because you’re alive again doesn’t mean you’re immune to damage,” Sakusa says. “It’s not really immortality, but if someone important got injured, they’d get me to revive them again at the expense of someone else.”

“How did ‘Samu convince you to revive me?”

“Grabbed my ankle and wouldn’t let me go.”

“Didn’t think he loved me that much.”

“You got really lucky that it was Daisuke who died.”

“How many people know about your ability?”

“Yachi, Osamu, and you. Eijun, maybe some more people from the gang. I don’t know how word got out to make it to them.” Saying it out loud makes Sakusa suddenly realize the possibility of the gang taking Yachi as hostage, or even Yamaguchi. He knew, of course, with all the extra police patrol, but didn’t really come to terms with it. He blinks rapidly.

“Hey, Omi-kun?”

“Hm?” Sakusa stares blankly at the pie that he’s laying a lattice pattern over.

“C’mere and have some chow mein.” Atsumu’s expression is gentle, a smile at the corners of his mouth. “I promise it’s good.”

Sakusa washes his hands and turns on the electric kettle for some jasmine tea, pulling on a pair of thin cloth gloves. He takes one carton from Atsumu and opens it.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“No prob,” Atsumu says, around a mouthful of noodles. “Y’all are always feedin’ me anyway.”

They don’t speak of this when Atsumu visits the next time, back to the barbs and jabs that compose their flirting.

"Why are you still coming here? It's not like you need more information from me."

“Can't I visit because I _like_ you, Omi-Omi?"

Sakusa fumbles with the plate he has in his hand when he sets a slice of peach pie down in front of Atsumu. The fork goes clattering down the bar and his ears burn.

“Hey, don't get all in a twist ‘bout it now. The operation to get those suckers is being carried out tomorrow.”

Sakusa hands him a clean fork. His chest feels tight. “Then what are you doing here instead of resting?”

“Eatin’ my favourite pie flavour, and talkin’ to my favourite person, duh.”

“Atsumu.” Sakusa didn’t expect at all for him to bring their dancing around each other up; Sakusa was willing to go to the grave with it, until he stopped feeling this way.

“What?” Atsumu asks, not meeting Sakusa’s eyes as he cuts into his slice of pie.

“Don't,” Sakusa breathes. “You know it could never work – we could never – we can’t touch –"

“Oh ho, thinking about touching already?”

Sakusa flushes. “Okay, leave. I've had enough."

Atsumu laughs, a soft, defeated thing. Sakusa can’t look away from the wry smile on his face.

"That's your rejection, huh? Always the practical one. I was just thinkin’ of makin’ Osamu sit here so we could each touch _his_ hands and pretend _we_ were holding hands – “ Atsumu breaks into louder laughter because Sakusa’s just pushed into the kitchen.

“I'll see you later, Omi-Omi,” he says. “Let's hope this goes smoothly and I don't die for the second time, yeah?”

_Wait, die?_

Sakusa slams right back out the double doors. “Atsumu –"

The bell rings, door closing behind him.

Sakusa’s tense for the rest of the week, working long hours to make himself so tired he can’t spare a worry to Atsumu because he falls asleep so quickly. Yachi brews soothing teas and Yamaguchi presents him with some peonies, which makes Sakusa laugh because he feels like he’s being consoled that his husband’s gone to war or something. It’s truly ridiculous.

He’s back in the kitchen late at night, scoring elaborate designs into the round loaves of bread he’s set to rise for a few hours for tomorrow. He pulls a wax sheet with the design on it over the loaf and off the loaf to carve it in.

Then he’s being wrapped in cotton covered arms.

“Wh –"

“Hey,” Atsumu says, breathless from the effort to surprise Sakusa. “Like my new uniform?” His white beekeeper uniform crinkles against Sakusa’s flour covered shirt. Sakusa’s arms prickle; he doesn’t have any gloves on.

Sakusa’s heart rate isn’t slowing down. “Finally took my advice and took your business to The Floral Reef, did you?”

“Yamaguchi just told me to wear this while I was on my way here,” Atsumu grins. “I just went with it. Thought I was supposed to scare ya, but I figured since it was full body, gettin’ nice and close would be good, too.”

“You’ve done both, congrats,” Sakusa deadpans. He extracts himself from Atsumu’s grip on him, shaky still from the fright and from the fact that Atsumu’s here after the disaster Sakusa made of his confession.

Plus the hug. Static zips up and down his spine and warmth floods his chest. Atsumu’s here, alive, which means the gang has been properly rounded up, and he’s in a beekeeping suit.

Atsumu steps back and hides his disappointment with a brighter smile. “Ah, the operation went well, by the way. That’s the Miya dream team for ya.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sakusa replies, rolling a strip of plastic wrap out and cutting it with the slider.

“So whatcha’ bakin’?”

“Did Yachi tell you? That I reciprocated?” Sakusa’s unzipping the mesh that covers Atsumu’s head.

“Yeah. Don’t be mad at her, I asked her first.”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t ask me?”

“If I remember correctly, you rejected _me_ , Omi-kun. Can’t blame a man for wantin’ to be sure first. Should you be doin’ that?”

“Doing what?”

“Exposing my mug to yours.”

“Don’t call your face that.”

“So you like it then, this mug.”

Sakusa hums and raises the strip of plastic wrap between their faces.

“Uh, are ya goin’ to suffocate me? Plastic wrap makes it easy, I’m sure.”

“Stop talking,” Sakusa says, and presses his face to the plastic wrap so his mouth meets Atsumu’s. Atsumu’s gloved hands run up his back to pull him close. It’s a little odd, kissing with no real feeling of his lips, but the warmth is there, and Sakusa likes the way the condensation appears and disappears as Atsumu pants against the plastic.

“Tell Osamu you’re going to be a beekeeper instead.”

“And get kissed like that? Fuck yeah,” Atsumu breathes. Sakusa snorts.

“Hitoka, we did it!” Atsumu and Sakusa spring apart to see Yamaguchi through the opening from the kitchen.

“Yachi, lay one on him and we’ll call it even,” Sakusa shouts. Yamaguchi yelps and bolts for the door, face red.

“This is _way too much_ yelling for 1am!” He hears fast footsteps from upstairs and Yachi’s hair glows in the light from the kitchen.

“I’m happy for you both,” she says, as she passes by. “Tadashi! We lost the bet against Atsumu, they got it together before we did, you owe me a kiss!”

“Get ‘im, Yacchan!”

They watch Yachi go towards The Floral Reef.

“They grow up so fast,” Atsumu sighs. Sakusa snorts and lifts the plastic wrap again.

“Less talking.”

“Yessir.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from [felt this way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QwBNbSPfXY) by carly rae jepsen.
> 
> i was thinking about that [plastic wrap kiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQMTIhoa6i8) from the show pushing daisies and then i _couldn't_ stop thinking about the plastic wrap kiss, so this is the result all for one scene. as always, i write to really only indulge myself, so i hope this was still enjoyable even if it was weird and overly long! it just wouldn't leave my brain, you know?
> 
> thank you for reading!


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